The Aftermath
by pistachio gelato
Summary: It gave Harry strength when he needed it most. Now the Resurrection Stone will do the same for George.


_AN: I wonder if someone has already explored this idea. Regardless, I had to give my own shot at it. I hope that you enjoy and I do not own Harry Potter._

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><p><strong>The Aftermath<strong>

A George centered story about his 5 stages of grief with Fred.

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_I - Denial & Isolation_

Harry had entered this magical school so full of excitement and wonder, eyes yet to see death glancing around in amazement. He would never had known years later it would turn into a place of such pain. Even in the light of a victory and the world finally free of an unconstrained evil, the prices were high. Even all the gold in Gringotts could not pay for it.

People were hunched over loved ones, bodies wracked with sobs. One such person had fiery red hair, so vivid in this gloomy place. He was leaning over someone of a mirror image to himself. It looked like he was mourning his own dead body. In a way, Fred's death was George's own. The later was feeling much more pain from the experience.

Harry had lost people he held dear, but never someone so close to him as Fred was to George. They had been together since birth, inseperatable in their mischief and foolishness. Harry knew that if he had lost either Hermione or Ron he would be in pieces, and he had only known them for part of his life. He could not even bare to imagine what George was feeling. George had been one of the jollist people Harry had ever known, often lifting his spirits. He shouldn't have to suffer, to become someone he wasn't because of this grief and anger.

The stone had been meant only for him, to be used and then lost, but Harry felt like it could still serve a person. Crouching down, Harry looked to the still, pale and definitely dead face of Fred before up to the flushed, wet and wretched face of George.

"Hey George, do you remember when you gave me the Marauder's Map? Back in third year?" Harry asked out over the somber air.

At the sound of another's voice, George tried to stop his full-lunged sobs to look up at Harry. He nodded weakly.

"That gift prevented a lot of trouble and pain for me. Do you mind if I repay the favor now with a gift of my own?"

Harry took George's silence as an invitation to continue. He talked fast and in a hushed voice, looking across to George the entire time. The redhead did not lift his head to met his gaze until Harry had stopped talking, ending in how he had left the stone and George would have to go searching for it. Then he looked up at Harry, eyes red and doubtful.

"Pity you've lost your stone while all I've lost is my Fred."

"George-"

"Just leave us alone," George sniffed. Then, slowly, he corrected himself by saying, "Leave _me_ alone."

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_II - Anger_

George did not exactly understand why he was suddenly back on the Hogwarts grounds, at the edge of the Forbidden Forrest. The trees loomed above threateningly, but George did not feel a fraction of fear. He had dealt with worse; he felt like nothing in there could bring him more pain than he had now.

He had been at Fred's funeral barely an hour ago. It had only started when he had departed; he couldn't take another minute of it. Seeing his body so still, just like _that_ night, had been too much. He had closed his eyes and had wished himself away, to apparate anywhere but here.

When he opened his eyes he had arrived at the basement of Honeydukes. He saw the faint outline of the trapdoor beneath his feet and opened it with ease. He began the trek to Hogwarts, his back aching by the end from having to bend his back for so long. His tux was ruined beyond repair with dirt and spider webs.

Now he stood in front of the swaying pines, remembering what Harry had told him that fateful night. He had told George while his eyes still leaked tears if he truly wanted to see Fred, he still could. It sounded too good to be true. Find a small, triangular rock and he could see, even _talk_, to Fred.

George had been silently furious with Harry, even with all his magical upbringing he couldn't believe. George knew that no matter how much magic no one could entirely come back from the dead, but Harry had seemed so sure. George liked to believe that he would not lie to him about something as important and sensitive as Fred.

But now he stood here, desperate and willing to believe. Taking a breath, he entered the forest.

George kept at it for hours, his eyes narrowed in searching for something so small. His voice was horse and his throat almost raw from saying summoning spells and not drinking. Harry had given him a rough estimate, so it was not like he had to go searching every which way in the forest, but it was still a formidable space to find something so small. He wondered even if the spells would bring it to him. Was this what Muggles had to go through daily when they lost things? He suddenly pitied them more than ever before.

Harry had also explained what it would look like - just an innocent looking black stone that was triangular and had the Deathly Hallows symbol. He remembered how Harry had explained it with hope, but even more caution. George felt that Harry was taking a leap in telling him something that should have probably been left in the forest to be forgotten, like many other things beneath the pine needles. But instead Harry (it must be some hero-complex) had decided to trust George. And he had made the point of only George - no one else. Not even another Weasley. People would go mad with want, especially after all the losses from the war.

The flaming redhead sat down with a huff and a thud. The sun had already sunk long ago. He could hear howling and creatures of the night, but George was not worried. This darkness and rustling were worries for the old George, when he had Fred to help him along.

Then, when he rose his head, he saw something glimmer between some trees. He got up with a jolt, his legs arguing and aching, and hobbled over. He leaned down and picked up what had shined.

It was a small stone that looked more like a pebble to him in his large hand. It was just what Harry had described. It was what he had been searching for, why he was covered in mud and had more pine needs tangled in his hair than hair itself.

Trembling, he took a deep breath and turned it in his palm three times in rapid succession.

"So you managed to find it. Tricky, wasn't it?"

George spun around, almost lossing his balance, and stared. There was standing Fred.

He looked soft and glowy, and George knew it wasn't only because of the moonlight. But while his body was fuzzy, Fred's grin could not have been more clear for George. Without thinking, only wanting, George lunged forward with arms outstretched for a hug.

But he didn't connect with Fred. He fell through the apparition and collapsed onto the forest floor, moaning from the unanticipated crash landing.

"You must know I'm dead," Fred said as he crouched down; "Took me a few days to understand it. Thought everyone was just tired of my jokes or something, ignoring me like never before."

George got up in a hurry, eyes wide and blinking at Fred. He now saw he was a tad transparent.

"Was my body blown to smitherines or something? That sounds heroic," Fred continued to talk.

"No," George said, surprised at the rough nature of his voice. He cleared his throat before talking again. "It's fully in tact. Just got in the ground today."

Fred sighed dramatically. "I wanted to at least have _some_ scars of achievement. You got your bloody ear shot off to show off. I just bent over because of some hex then. How un-cool."

For talking about his death, Fred did not seem very fired up or angry. George had felt if he had seen him he would be spitting and cursing, furious that he had been killed by some snake-sucking Death Eater. But here he was, calmly wishing for a more glorified death.

"I should have been there," George said as he felt the never ending guilt begin to gnaw away.

"Oh my dear Gred. My amazing Forge," Fred said with a laugh; "It's alright."

And suddenly, even as he bent over crying, George realized that it was.

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_III - Bargaining_

George looked down at the engagement ring he had picked for Angelina. The diamond twinkled in the sunlight without any magical aid.

"You think it's alright?" George asked out to Fred who walked along aside him.

He had taken to talking to Fred, not caring if anyone else thought him crazy. His family accepted it willingly. If it meant that George talked to an invisible Fred for him to be least somewhat happy and jubilant as before, it was well worth the trade. Only Harry truly understood, as his smile was genuine. He would ask George to ask Fred how he was doing every time they came across each other ("A little under the ground, to be honest," Fred always answered).

George had opened the shop again, and soon business was booming like never before. It was a good distraction, and it made George happy to see all the kids smiling at even the smallest tricks. Fred would stand by, positively gleaming as well to the future troublemakers. In that shop, surrounded by Hogwarts students who looked at him with awe (especially when he showed off his stump of an ear battle-scar) George truly began to feel happy again.

Angelina also made him feel happy, in a subdued sort of way. George knew if he could ever love someone, it was her.

"Tad small, don't you think?" Fred asked as he rubbed his chin.

George scoffed and pocketed the ring. A moment later he stopped at the familiar patch of grass and the stone heading. He looked at the grave before him and saw Fred's name carved into the stone and the dated years, as well as his age. Only twenty years.

"You know she only loves me because I look like you? Some mornings when she wakes up there's this light in her eyes - and then she realizes it's just me. Just George."

"You're better for her," Fred said as he gestured towards the ring; "You were always the nicer one. She likes that the most, you know."

"Your ability to lie must have died with you," George said with a thin smile.

Fred narrowed his eyes at him before sitting down aside of him. It was a little unnerving to see how the grass did not squish under any weight. There was silence for some time, and George half-heatedly watched the flowers' petals sway in the wind.

"I wish it was me," George said; "I wish it was me who died instead."

"If I could touch you I'd slug you like a beater," Fred said; "I'm glad I died instead of you."

"I would die for you," George said as he looked up at the grave stone again. "I don't need anyone else, not Angelina, not Mom or Dad or-"

He couldn't continue; he was about to burst into more tears.

Fred tried to pat his back, but his hand simply slipped through. George didn't notice, but he shuddered for a moment and pulled his coat around him tighter. Fred looked down and couldn't decide on what to say.

People passed by, seeing only one of the twins. They saw him hunched over in near-tears and misunderstood.

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_IV - Depression_

"Who are you talking to Daddy?"

George looked down and saw that his three year old son was tugging on one of his pants' leg. He was sucking a few of his fingers, making the words a little muddled but not completely incomprehensible.

"Oh, I was just talking to Uncle Fred."

"_I'm_ Fred an' you weren' talkin' to _me_," the child said with a furrowed brow. As if afterthought, he added, "An' whas uncle?"

George looked over to Fred who was grinning and then down to the second Fred. George felt his heart swell with love as he leaned down and picked up the child.

"Yes, well, you are _both_ amazing. It must be something to do with the name."

The child beamed and removed his fingers from his mouth, leaving a trail of spit. Then it seemed the subject was soon forgotten, especially when George became a tickle monster. Soon the kitchen was full of shreaks of laughter. Then suddenly, before George could stop him, the boy grabbed the necklace around George's neck and pulled up the stone attached to the end. He pulled at it playfully, hands inching closer to the small black pendant.

His pudgy fingers grasped around the stone, and in a hurry George went over to his high chair. Once his hands were free, George pried his son's fingers off the stone.

"No, no," George said as the child's eyes crinkled in sadness and foreshadowing tears; "This is Daddy's. Not yours."

While the child continued to tear up, George looked around and saw that Fred was gone. Feeling a sudden spike of fear, he rolled the stone in his palm.

Fred reappeared in an instance, sitting at a chair at the table with a lopsided grin on his face.

"Takes after his uncle more in his name I see," he said cheerily; "Creating trouble wherever he roams."

George choked a laugh and then turned back to the alive Fred.

He began dabbing at the little boy's eyes, rubbing away the salty tears that continued to fall forth, like his eyes were under a spell. George picked him up again and began rambling about anything, to distract the boy and make him focus on something other than showing distress.

The redhead truly loved this child, but often he couldn't bare to say his name. It was too much, and he felt guilty and downtrodden becuase of it. Unable ot call his son a proud, honorable name. It was only second in disgrace to how he had yet to let go of Fred, despite it being years. Angelina seemed to recognize his habit too, but did not comment.

In the beginning George had believed he could get over the grief with the help of Fred. Once he had accepted he had passed, George could throw the rock away just like Harry. Yet it was a vicious cycle. The closer George came to understanding that Fred was really not here and dead, he would hear him and see him and he couldn't let him go. It was only a shadow of him, but a shadow was better than a void.

Fred had told him countless times how he was over his death. He was even happy, joking that he was glad he would never have to turn old like George had ("Now I'm _really_ the better looking one!"). If the person who died had gotten over it, how had George not? Was he really living then, or just hanging onto death?

"Daddy!"

He was snapped out of his thoughts as Fred pulled his ear. George must have made a face, for soon the shrill laughter was back.

"You need to pay more attention to _that_ Fred, I do believe," his twin said with a knowing smirk.

George looked at his son, still so squishy and with too-big eyes, and felt himself smiling.

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_V - Acceptance_

George had been vibrant even in his old age, when grandchildren began to climb on him and pull at the remaining hair on his head without mercy.

But now, as he lie on his bed late at night, he knew that his time was coming to the end. And as he lied on a bed, the only living thing in the room, he was unafraid because he knew he was not alone. His family and friends were not here, unaware of his suddenly-turned frail state. Yet loyal Fred was right there on the edge of the bed, his brown eyes and red hair as vibrant and youthful as the day he had died.

George was not afraid of dying. After Fred had passed, he knew he would not mind it when the time came and he could follow along. Those days before had had given into his curiosity and searched and miraculously found the stone, he had at times wished for death.

Now he was very thankful for the many years he had been given. He did not have any things to finish (as he was never very rambunctious after Fred's passing) but there was one thing he needed to apologize for, and it was to Fred himself.

"I'm so sorry Freddie," George choked out as he felt his heart give another quiver; "I was so greedy this entire time, keeping you here as I got older and became happy. All this time you had to watch, only able to communicate with me. You couldn't see everyone, couldn't make a family of your own, but I made you stay and help me-"

"George, it's fine," he said with a grin as he crouched down and took his hand in his. George was shocked to see that he could feel the force of Fred's hand; his death was closer than thought.

"I knew it was for passing only," George continued to say out breathlessly; "But I couldn't let you go. Not again. It wasn't right, I know, but you just had to stay by my side. You just _had_ to."

Fred finally looked dead, as his face looked long and his eyes sunken in with sadness. To see George dying was worse than his own death had been.

"I love you so much," George said as he gave another wheezing breath.

"I love you, too, Georgie," Fred said with a soft smile that broke the gloom over his face; "That's why I've stayed for this long. I won't pass on until you're here. I couldn't leave without you. If you hadn't found that rock, I would have haunted you until this day anyway, so we can go on together. And anyway, I had to make sure someone named their kid after me."

"Death does sound like an adventure," George said with a watery grin and his softest laugh.

"We'll truly be unstoppable together this time," Fred said as his grin widened. Fred did not think he could cry in this state, but silvery tears leaked down his face.

George exhaled his last breath with happiness.

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End file.
